Kovel-1 Complex. Time: Unknown
August woke slowly, as if surfacing from a deep pool. First came sensations—the coolness of sheets, the hardness of the mattress, the barely perceptible hum of ventilation. Then smells—sterility reminiscent of a hospital, with a hint of something chemical. And only then—memories.
He lay still, not opening his eyes. Maybe if he didn't open them long enough, it would turn out that everything that happened was just a nightmare. That he would wake up in his room, be called for breakfast, and life would return to its usual course.
But the hum of ventilation was foreign. And the smells. Even the sensation of his own body—unusual, as if he had slept not hours, but days.
August opened his eyes.
White ceiling. Perfect, without a single spot or crack. He turned his head—white walls and floor. Everything so clean it began to blur before his eyes. The room was small—a bed, nightstand, chair, door to what was probably a bathroom. And a glass wall with an equally glass door, behind which a corridor could be seen. No privacy.
August slowly sat up. His head spun a little, but not critically. He was wearing white hospital clothing without identifying marks. Simple, comfortable, clearly new. On the inner side of his wrist was a small bruise—a trace from an IV.
He rubbed his neck—the skin there slightly stung, as if from a light burn. His fingers found something raised. August stood up and approached the glass wall, trying to see his reflection. On his neck, just above its base, was a small tattoo—13.
A tattoo? When did they manage to...
The corridor was quiet, but people were already waking up in other cells. Teenagers, approximately his age. Someone sat on the bed, holding their head in their hands. Someone stood by the glass, like him, looking around with confusion. Everyone had similar black numbers visible on their necks.
Memory returned in fragments. The square. Evening. He was waiting for Al by the fountain. Then that man in glasses, the broken ampoule, red smoke that spread like a living thing...
August pressed his forehead against the cold glass. People were falling. Dozens of people. And then darkness.
"Hey," came a voice from the right.
In the neighboring cell stood a girl. Blonde hair disheveled, green eyes looking warily. She pressed against the glass from her side. On her neck was also visible a number—2.
"Are you from the square too?" she asked in a muffled but clear voice.
August nodded.
"How long have we been here?" the girl continued.
"I don't know," August answered. His voice sounded hoarse. "Just woke up."
"Me too. Oh, you got a free tattoo too!"
"Yeah, their service is top-notch."
"Tell me about it... As if we're some kind of cattle."
They were silent, looking at each other through two layers of glass and the corridor between them.
"What is this place?" asked the girl.
"Maybe a hospital. Or..." August didn't finish.
Suddenly all the doors simultaneously slid aside with a quiet mechanical hiss. A woman in a white coat appeared in the corridor—middle-aged, with soft features and tired eyes. A man with a tablet followed her.
"Good morning," she said, stopping at the first cell. "I need to clarify your data for medical records. This will only take a minute."
She approached the guy in the first cell. He looked confused.
"Your name and surname?"
"Um... Daniel. Daniel Morgan."
"Full years?"
"Seventeen."
The woman nodded, the man wrote something on the tablet. They moved to the next cell. Thus, methodically, they went around everyone, recording names and ages. When it was August's turn, he was ready.
"August Hartmann. Seventeen years old."
"Thank you," the nurse smiled, but the smile didn't reach her eyes. "How are you feeling?"
"More or less."
"Excellent. After the survey, everyone will be taken to breakfast."
The girl in the neighboring cell introduced herself as Sarah Weber, she was also seventeen. When the survey was finished, a man in a white coat appeared in the corridor—the one who had been with the tablet.
"Please everyone exit and follow me," he said in an even voice. "Breakfast is ready."
August went out into the corridor. Other teenagers were doing the same—slowly, uncertainly. There were thirteen of them in total. Some looked frightened, others—confused, someone even angry.
"Sarah," the girl from the neighboring cell ended up next to him. "Though you already know."
"August," he tried to smile. "You know too."
They walked along a long corridor. The same white walls, shiny floor, ceiling with LED lamps. At regular intervals—surveillance cameras. August counted six turns before they reached the cafeteria.
The cafeteria turned out to be a spacious room with panoramic windows overlooking an open space fenced with a fence. It, in turn, was surrounded by forest. This was reassuring—at least they weren't underground, not in some bunker.
Long tables, plastic chairs, serving area at the far end. The smell of food—real food—made his stomach clench with hunger.
August took a tray and stood in line. Sarah ended up behind him.
"At least they feed us normally," she muttered, rubbing her neck. "But these numbers..."
At the serving area worked people in white uniforms and medical masks. They silently served food—oatmeal, toast, scrambled eggs, orange juice. Everything looked appetizing.
August sat at one of the tables. He was joined by Sarah and a short guy with an intelligent face and number 3.
"Gillian," the guy introduced himself. "Also from the square."
They ate in silence. The porridge was delicious, with cinnamon and honey. The toast was fresh. The juice was natural. After the stress and an unknown period without food, this seemed like the best meal in life.
"Does anyone remember what happened after?" Gillian finally asked. "After it all started?"
"Red fog," Sarah said quietly. "People were falling. And then... blackout."
"Same for me," August nodded. "As if memory was erased."
"Or we were unconscious," Gillian suggested. "Sedative drugs can cause amnesia."
A girl with short dark hair approached their table. She held a tray that trembled slightly. On her neck—5.
"Can I join you?" she asked. "I don't want to sit alone."
"Of course," Sarah moved over. "I'm Sarah. This is August and Gillian."
"Mia," the girl introduced herself. "I... I don't remember anything either. Just red fog and screams."
They continued eating, occasionally exchanging phrases. Gradually fear receded, giving way to curiosity. What is this place? Why are they here? Where are their parents?
When most had finished breakfast, a person in a white coat entered the cafeteria. Tall, thin, with attentive eyes behind glasses.
"Attention," he said, and conversations died down. "My name is Dr. Miller. I am the chief physician of this department. First of all, I want to reassure you—you are safe."
"Where are we?" someone shouted.
"You are in the medical complex 'Kovel-1'," the doctor answered. "This is a quarantine zone. You were evacuated from Aurora Square after an incident with a biological threat."
Whispers rolled through the cafeteria. Biological threat?
"What threat?" asked a sturdy guy with number 1. "What was that?"
"We're finding out," Dr. Miller spoke calmly, measuredly. "Preliminarily—a leak of an experimental substance. You were exposed but survived. That's good news. However, we need to make sure your health is fine."
"What about the others?" Sarah's voice trembled. "Those who were at the square?"
The doctor paused.
"The situation is under control of emergency response services. Your task now is to focus on your own recovery."
"Can we contact our parents?" asked Mia.
"Unfortunately, not yet. The quarantine protocol assumes isolation until all tests are completed. But your families have been notified that you are safe."
"And what are these numbers on our necks?" asked a guy with number 8.
"Temporary identification for medical records," the doctor answered. "Nothing more. They will be removed after quarantine ends."
August rubbed his tattoo. Temporary? But it looked very permanent.
"How long will we be here?" asked Gillian.
"It depends on the examination results. A few days, maybe a week. We'll do everything to make your stay comfortable."
The doctor once again surveyed the cafeteria with his gaze.
"After breakfast, you'll be taken to the recreation area. There are books, games, TV. During the day we'll begin medical examinations. Please treat this with understanding—it's for your own good."
He turned and left. Silence hung in the cafeteria.
"I don't like this," muttered number one.
"What choice do we have?" Sarah sighed. "We don't even know where we are."
After breakfast, they were indeed taken to the recreation area. It was a large room with soft sofas, armchairs, tables. One wall was occupied by bookshelves, a large TV hung on another. The windows overlooked the same forest.
August approached the window. A dirt road stretched into the distance. No signs of life nearby.
"Beautiful view," Sarah stood next to him.
"I wonder where we are," August said thoughtfully. "Judging by everything, quite far from the city."
"Maybe in the suburbs? I heard there are several closed medical institutions there."
They moved away from the window. The others settled around the room—some took books, some turned on the TV, which was broadcasting a wildlife program, some sat staring into space.
August noticed a thin guy in the corner who sat apart from everyone. He nervously tugged at the edge of his sleeve and muttered something to himself.
"I'll go talk to him," August told Sarah.
He approached the guy and sat down next to him.
"Hi. I'm August."
He flinched and raised his head. Red eyes with dilated pupils.
"Daniel," he introduced himself in a trembling voice.
"Are you okay?"
Daniel laughed nervously.
"Okay? We're locked up who knows where after half of everyone who was at the square probably died from some infection. And they marked us like cattle. But yeah, I'm okay."
"I understand," August tried to speak calmly. "But I doubt panic will help here."
"What will help?" Daniel clutched his temples. "My head's been splitting since I woke up. And this dream..."
"What dream?"
Daniel looked at him with a tormented gaze.
"Fog everywhere. Everything's red. And voices. Many voices. They're whispering something, but I can't make out the words."
August frowned. He had slept like the dead, only a feeling of anxiety lingered for some time after waking.
"Maybe it's the effects of stress," he suggested.
"Maybe," Daniel closed his eyes. "Or maybe that substance did something to our brains."
They sat in silence. Then August returned to Sarah and Gillian, who had settled on a sofa with books.
"How is he?" asked Sarah.
"Not great. Says he's tormented by nightmares."
"I had strange dreams too," Mia admitted. "But I remember almost nothing. Just the feeling of drowning."
"Me too," Gillian nodded. "Like falling into an abyss."
They exchanged glances.
The next hour passed relatively calmly. August took a book from the shelf—some adventure novel—and tried to read, but couldn't concentrate. Thoughts kept returning to the square, to the fog.
Suddenly a voice came from the speakers:
"Number thirteen, proceed to the medical block. Number thirteen to the medical block."
August stood up. They know names, but still use numbers.
"Good luck," Sarah said in farewell.
An employee in a white coat was waiting for him at the exit. Silent, with an empty gaze. They walked through corridors, and August tried to memorize the way. Left turn, straight, right, right again...
The medical block greeted him with the smell of antiseptic and the quiet hum of devices. The employee led him to a small office where Dr. Miller was waiting.
"Have a seat, August," the doctor pointed to a medical chair.
August sat down. The chair was comfortable, but something about the setting created tension in him.
"First, general questions," the doctor took a tablet. "How do you feel?"
"Normal," August answered. "A bit tired, but overall fine."
"Headaches? Nausea? Dizziness?"
"No. Well, my head spun a little when I woke up, but now everything's fine."
The doctor marked something on the tablet.
"What do you remember about the events at the square?"
August thought.
"I was waiting for a friend by the fountain. Then I saw two men. One broke some ampoule, red smoke started. People began falling. And then..."
"Red smoke," the doctor repeated. "Can you describe it in more detail?"
"It was thick. Spread quickly. And the smell..." August grimaced. "Metallic."
"What happened next?"
"I tried to run, but my legs wouldn't obey. Then darkness."
The doctor nodded and put down the tablet.
"Now, we'll take your blood for analysis."
A woman in a mask entered the office. She silently prepared instruments, fixed August's arm, wiped the injection site with alcohol, inserted the needle. He watched as blood filled the test tube. It seemed slightly darker than usual, but perhaps it was just the lighting.
"Now physical tests," said the doctor when the nurse left. "Stand on the treadmill."
A compact treadmill stood in the corner of the office. The doctor attached sensors to August's chest.
"Start slowly. Gradually increase the pace."
August began walking, then switched to a light jog. Strange, but there was no fatigue. Usually he got tired after five to ten minutes of running, but now his breathing remained even, muscles didn't burn.
"Faster," said the doctor, looking at the monitor.
August sped up. Still no fatigue.
"Even faster."
Now he was running almost at maximum speed. Heart beating, but not as hard as it should. Breathing rapid, but not critical.
"Enough," the doctor said sharply. "Stop."
August stepped off the treadmill. The doctor looked at the readings, and his face was tense.
"Something wrong?" asked August.
"No, everything's fine."
Suddenly from the neighboring office came a crash. Then a scream—low, vibrating, not at all like a human voice.
The doctor jumped up.
"Stay here," he threw and ran out of the office.
August approached the door. Through the glass insert he could see the neighboring office. On the floor writhed a person—that same thin guy, Daniel. But something was wrong. His movements were too sharp, unnatural. His body arched at impossible angles.
Three employees tried to hold him down, but Daniel possessed inhuman strength. He threw one of them against the wall with such force that he lost consciousness.
"Hold him!" someone shouted. "Sedative! Quickly!"
August saw blood. It flowed from Daniel's nose, from his ears. But most terrible were his eyes—red, with burst vessels.
Finally one of the employees managed to inject a sedative. Daniel's body went limp, but continued to resist for some time. He was quickly loaded onto a gurney, strapped down and taken away.
Dr. Miller returned. There were small blood spatters on his coat.
"What's wrong with him?" asked August.
"Acute stress reaction," the doctor answered, but his voice trembled. "Rare, but it happens. He'll be given help."
"That didn't look like stress."
The doctor looked at him sharply.
"You're not a medic, Hartmann. The examination is over. You can return to the recreation area."
The same silent employee escorted August back. On the way they passed a closed door with a sign "Isolation Ward." He felt a strange chill.
In the recreation area, he was immediately surrounded by Sarah, Gillian and Mia.
"What happened?" asked Sarah. "We heard some noise."
August told them about Daniel. Their faces grew increasingly grim.
"This doesn't sound like stress," said Gillian. "More like... I don't know. Poisoning? Infection?"
"What if it's that red fog?" Mia whispered. "If it did something to us?"
A sturdy guy with a short haircut approached them—the same one with number 1.
"I'm Ray," he introduced himself. "And I heard your conversation. Something's definitely not right here. They're not just keeping us in quarantine."
"Then why else?" asked Sarah.
"Experiments," Ray answered grimly. "We were exposed to an unknown substance and survived. Perfect test subjects."
"You're delusional," Gillian shook his head.
"Am I? Then why won't they let us contact relatives? Why won't they say where we are? Why are they lying about Daniel? And these numbers—think they'll just erase them later?"
There were no answers to these questions.
The rest of the day passed in tense anticipation. Several more people were called for examination, but all returned intact. Dinner passed in silence—no one wanted to discuss what happened in front of the staff.
In the evening, before lights out, August lay on his bed in his cell. Behind the glass wall, the corridor had plunged into twilight—only duty lamps were burning. Somewhere out there, beyond the walls of this complex, was normal life. His home, family, friends. I wonder what they were told? That he's in the hospital? That he's alive?
He touched the tattoo on his neck. 13. As if he's no longer a person, but just a number on someone's list.
Footsteps sounded in the corridor. Several people in white coats passed by, pushing a gurney. On it lay something covered with a sheet.
August closed his eyes and tried to sleep. But sleep wouldn't come. Today's events spun in his head.
Something was wrong with this place. And something was wrong with them. August felt it—some change inside, maybe at the cellular level.
And the scariest thing—he didn't know what would happen next. Who would be next in Daniel's place?
August pressed his forehead against the pillow and forced himself to close his eyes. Tomorrow would be a new day. And possibly—new victims.